28. Carol

28

Carol

"Is this okay?" she gasped, honestly shocked that flipping him had worked.

"More than okay." His voice was rougher now, and the edges of it caught at something inside her. Like a spark catching on kindling. "Tell me if we need to change this up. Whatever you need. Hell, I'll carry you around if that's what works best."

Another jolt of need. "Here is good."

"You'll tell me?"

She'd barely managed those three words, and he wanted more out of her? "Y- yes. "

That must have been the magic word.

He lifted up just long enough to strip off his t-shirt, then crashed down. Even beneath her, he was so big and so close that he blotted out everything else in the world. He'd spent more time without a shirt on than with, in the few days they'd known each other, so seeing him half-naked shouldn't have knocked the wind out of her.

But it did.

She ran her hands along his stomach and chest, tracing the smooth muscles she'd spent day after day devouring with her eyes. He was the same warm brown all over, not like her patchwork tan.

How could fate have picked someone so perfect and given him her in exchange? How was that fair?

"Should I—?" She plucked awkwardly at the hem of her shirt.

His eyes went black with desire. "No. Let me."

He just didn't want her to elbow him in the face by accident. That's what she told herself. But as he slowly pulled her top off, it became harder and harder to believe. He covered her with his hands, caressing and kissing up her stomach, her ribs, between her breasts. Her chest hitched, and he made a low sound of approval deep in his throat.

He dropped the t-shirt off the side of the bed and she straightened, her bra a scrap of sensible white nothing against the heat in his gaze.

"Take that off for me."

Excitement pulsed inside her. She reached behind herself to undo the clasp at the back, and he swore under his breath.

Then his mouth was on her again, licking up the rise of her breast. She gasped and strained against him. There was so much of him, she didn't know where to touch first, to make him feel the way he made her feel. His hand went between her legs, cupping her pussy, and she clung helplessly to his shoulders.

Oh god. She wasn't even naked yet, he wasn't even touching her, and she'd almost come.

"You like that?"

"Yes—"

"Good." He rubbed the heel of his hand against her, and she moaned, ragged and needy. "Keep telling me what you like."

"More of that." A guilty thought batted its way to the top of her mind. "What do you like?"

"I like it when you make that noise."

"What— ohh-h-h-h. "

"Just like that."

She put her hands on his chest. Not warding him off, but overwhelmed by how he took over her senses.

His heart beat beneath her hands, a steady thrum that echoed right down to her bones.

"Tell me—"

"More."

His eyes lit up. He slid one huge hand under her ass, squeezing a handful and then slowly dragging her pants down. Thick fingers, blunt but deft, traced a tantalising curve around her slit.

"I want to hear you," he murmured. His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Please?"

He huffed a soft breath of laughter. "I want to hear you, please ."

"That's not what I—"

He pushed one finger into her, and she broke off, words fracturing as her hips bucked towards him. Holy shit. She was so wet, and his finger was so big , just the one finger. It hadn't been like this the other time. That had been rushed and disappointing, and she shouldn't even be thinking about it right now. She wanted this to last forever, except she wanted it right now , too, fast and overwhelming and…

"Good?"

"Mmm-mmmph?"

"Is that a yes?" He pulled her closer, his breath ruffling her hair. "I need to hear you."

" Yes. Yes. A million times yes. But—"

He stilled. Oh no. That wasn't what she meant!

"No, I mean, it's yes, it's all yes, but I'm going to need—I-it's been a while, and I'll need—I need…"

He pushed a second finger into her, the stretch just enough to start to feel it properly, and she let out a shaky breath. "Like that?"

She moaned wordlessly, flexing against him, and his rumble of amusement filled her heart. He added another finger, and it was too much and not enough all at once, all three fingers fucking slowly in and out of her, and why was she letting him do all the work?

She fumbled for the waistband of his pants, and holy mother of everything, three fingers was nothing compared to the thick heft of his cock. It was hot and hard in her hand, and there was no point him asking if she was ready. She was ready, and she would never be ready. She wanted him now, no more prep, not to get it over with but to be overwhelmed by it all, by him, to fill the aching need inside her.

The words that tumbled out of her mouth must have made even less sense than the ones flying around her brain, but Moss groaned, " Yes ," into her hair and lifted her into his lap.

The thick head of his cock pressed against her entrance, then in, inch by exhilarating inch, until he was buried entirely within her. Her body adjusted, wet enough and willing enough to stretch until he filled her, but it took her mind a moment to catch up, and when it did, her head dropped onto his chest.

All of him. He was so big, and she fit him so easily. Like she was made for him.

He let her set the pace, and she almost wished he wouldn't. She wasn't used to this. Sex. Or it being easy instead of awkward. But it worked, somehow, slow at first then faster as she gained confidence in how she was moving against him.

And his responses. The catches in his breath. His hands tightening on her. His mouth all over her and the groans that vibrated against her skin. The glimmer of silver connecting them every time she closed her eyes, but she didn't want to close them, she wanted to see the sweat beading on his forehead, the crease between his eyebrows as she squeezed—

Stars burst behind her eyes. She plummeted into pleasure, like losing her balance on the crest of a wave. Like climbing a mountain and the next step was empty space instead of solid ground.

Moss held her as she spun apart and stroked her until she came back whole. She braced herself above him, panting, shivering with aftershocks. His eyes were so dark, she wanted to swim in them. She should say something. Should she say something?

Moss laughed. "Just stay right where you are," he said, and thrust into her again.

She was tight and almost sore, sated and weary and exultant, and she couldn't keep her eyes off Moss as he buried himself inside her. He met her gaze. Her chest felt as though it was about to burst.

He ran his hands over her hips, holding her as though he was afraid she might disappear. His actions became more focused. A spring winding tight. Then in one movement, he swung on top of her. He bore down on her, overwhelming, all that power and passion focused on her .

It wasn't an out-of-body experience. She was in her body, wanted and desired and exhilarated by every touch. He sped up, tension building in his shoulders and down his back. His eyes drank her in. Loving and longing and hers.

At the last moment, he pulled out.